


Quiet Moments (and a Few Loud Ones)

by zarhooie



Category: Stargate - All Series, The Avengers (2012)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 16:14:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarhooie/pseuds/zarhooie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Avengers ficlets which get under the skin and stay. Mostly set in the movieverse with some jaunts elsewhere, when the need is called for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Vents

On the fourth (fifth? eighth? Who can keep track of these things, anyway. Pepper. Pepper can keep track of these things. That's why he pays her.) time Avengers Tower is damaged, he has the contractors add in a secondary and entirely non-functional ventilation system. It mirrors the real one-- opens into the same rooms, has the same access points-- but this one has a secret.

Deep in the system, back where no reasonable human would ever go, there's a lounge.

A rather comfortable lounge at that: pillows, couch, television, coffee machine, even a little fridge. And of course, the weapons rack. Tony calls it Barton Bait to himself, and bird food to anyone who asks. The contractors think he's gone nuts, but Tony reminds them that he is paying them to build, not to think. Thinking is way above their pay grade.

Every time the Tower sustains damage, he adds on a little bit more to the shadow ventilation system. A tiny bathroom above Clint's room, and a microwave above the real kitchen. 

To the single worker who asks what the purpose of this thing is, he says, "it's for my security system." And for once, he's not lying.


	2. The Ramen

Tony doesn't remember when the ramen started showing up. He's pretty sure it's always been there, but something in the back of his mind says it's not true.

Bruce starts sneaking in after Coulson returned, when Tony re-starts his habit of staying up for too many days without sleeping or eating. The sleeping couldn't be helped, but the eating...

The first time Bruce tried to teach Dummy how to make food, the bot set off fire alarms in the entire building. Bruce still hasn't managed to work out how Dummy managed to get *that* combination of chemicals into the toaster.

The only thing that Dummy's learned to make so far has been ramen. There's nothing that can get lit on fire, or explode, or melt through the concrete (again). The bonus is that it's very obvious, even to work-obsessed Tony, when the food's been tampered with. Dummy takes the creation of The Ramen for Tony to be his sacred duty, and though he still screws every other thing up with surprising regularity, The Ramen is perfect, every time. Even Jarvis notices, commenting to Tony that, "perhaps Sir should be on the brink of starvation more often, and won't you please consider sleeping sometime this week?"

Bruce has coached the rest of the Avengers to accept The Ramen as an acceptable food source for most intents and purposes. Coulson is wary about the whole thing (what with Dummy's propensity to screw up, well, everything), until he catches Clint swiping a few packs one evening. Clint swears that he asked first.

Tony doesn't realize until much, much later that The Ramen in the workshop is much different than ramen anywhere else. That's because Bruce replaces the commercial "flavor packets" with a specially-crafted vitamin and mineral blend. It is salt-flavored, of course, but there's only so many miracles one man can work.


	3. The Stargate

4:32 a.m. MST is the best time of the day for sleeping, or fixing alien technology. You know, whichever. Jane really isn't surprised anymore when she wakes up in a blue beam of light and is then unceremoniously deposited in front of a rather striking stone ring. It looks like it belongs in an amusement park, not a top secret Air Force bunker under a mountain. She's not sure what amusement park would want this particular ride, though.

Counting her lucky stars (HA) that she wore slightly more PJs to bed than she would on a night her Thor is on earth, she climbs to her feet. "What did you do this time, Jack?" she shouts at the glass window a story above her. "I don't remember the chevrons being _that_ color the last time I was here. A WEEK AGO."

Two beats, then: "It's not my fault this time probably maybe LISTEN IT WAS DANIEL'S IDEA." "It most certainly was not. Sam and I BOTH told you to stop, but do you listen? Nooooo." She grins as the familiar banter of Captain Jack O'Neill and Dr. Daniel Jackson fills the gate room. Looking up through the glass, she can see them bickering like old married ladies ("or Cap and Tony," she says to herself). Tony.

She sends a quick prayer to whoever is listening that this clusterfuck won't necessitate shipping Tony out again. She'd _tried_ to explain to him that repulsor tech wasn't a good addition to the MALPs, but her pleas had fallen on deaf ears, and then deafened ears. She could see that the maintainence crew hadn't managed to repair the damage yet, as evidenced by a large swath of caution tape to the right of the Gate. At least SG-9 has managed to keep Tony and Jack apart for the last few visits. That is a headache no one wants to think about.

Shaking her head, she strides towards the door. "Ok, ok, whatever. I don't care whose fault it is this time. Where's Sam, and where the HELL is my coffee?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SG-9 is the diplomatic unit. They've adopted Pepper as their mascot. Sometimes they bring Bruce along when they can't risk any obvious weapons. He does it with the understanding that it's only done when it's a true emergency situation. They used him for a less-than-critical negotiation once, and it made him angry. No one likes him when he's angry (except Teal'c).


	4. The Apartment

Time marches. Slowly, but surely, everything is crushed under the weight of forward momentum. Once in a very great while, a pocket of the past will survive in a way that time never intended. Steve thanks his stars (and stripes) for this every time he fishes the brass key out from his pocket. The metal slides quietly into the lock, and turns with a satisfying click. Steve won't admit it to anyone else, but there are some days when that sound, that movement of the lock, is the only thing keeping him from insanity.

He lives in the Tower most of the time, of course. He has to keep up appearances, and honestly, keeping Tony in line is a full-time job, even for a super-human. He's learned how to use the keypads, the retina scans, the bioinformatic systems. He understands sliding doors, force fields, and every other invention designed to restrict access. It's not that he won't learn. Just... Sometimes, all a man needs is a worn piece of metal, and a well-oiled lock. It's the difference between "COMPUTER: Tea. Earl Grey. Hot," and the true ritual of tea: drawing the cool water from the well, listening to the rumble of the kettle about to boil, and watching the water shift from clear to brown as the tea bag steeps. (Thor is a Star Trek junkie, and sometimes, when sketching isn't enough to stave off the nightmares, Steve will watch with him. Thor loves the shiny ships, and the battles, and the outragous plots. Steve loves the idea that maybe one of Tony's "experiments" will throw him back to the War.)

His apartment has always been his apartment. Well, in this building, anyway. The neighborhood has changed, but the contents are pretty much the same. He has spent months scouring thrift shops and antique stores to find the right furnishings. He scored the vintage fridge and bedset on Craigslist (with help from Jarvis), and the couch was on a sidewalk in midtown, ready to be hauled to the dump. He carried it home himself at 2am, praying the whole way that the cameras would stay away for once.

He privately calls the apartment the Holodeck.

When the lock clicks, and the door turns, he can almost pretend like it's still the 40's, like he wasn't frozen as the world kept moving.


	5. The Movies

All the best things happen on Thursdays in Avengers Tower. When the god who is the namesake of that day declares it to be so, you don't want to be the person who tries to prove him wrong.

After Loki was secured, Thor came back to Earth to learn about the world of Menn. Even with all their weaknesses, these tiny humans had managed to create things of great wonder. The Æsir were mighty people, skilled in battle. The people of Midgard were skilled in the ways of comfort: pop tarts, comfortable pants, fragile bubbles created with a breath. Thor reveled in these creations, so strange and alien to his eyes. Sometimes he reveled a little too much.

Being the partner of a God was a new experience for Jane, so she was incredibly thankful that Pepper Potts had offered to chat with her over coffee. As Jane explained Thor's predilection for breaking the Thing of the Day, Pepper suggested that Jane consider talking Thor to "some little theater, somewhere that won't mind if he talks through the whole thing, or destroys a row of seats." Jane nodded. One stunning display of competence later, the Brooklyn Heights Cinema 9 had been reserved for the next day for a private party, courtesy of Stark Industries.

Jane had assumed that Thor would be partial to grandiose battle sequences, lots of explosions, and excessive heroics. Boy, was she wrong. In the lobby, Thor caught sight of some kid's movie with little yellow creatures or something. Jane wasn't entirely sure about the plot, but Thor looked so excited by the prospect of jelly beans in jumpsuits that she changed tactics. She set Thor the task of acquiring snacks ("a great feast I shall procure for us, lady Jane! Shall I slay some gummy bears for you?"), and then sought out the manager. Once she explained the situation, the manager was happy to dig out the reels from Frankenweenie to roll for the giant blonde with his face full of popcorn, and a fistful of assorted chocolates.

Thor loved it, and couldn't shut up about "the brave and glorious dog of bones" at dinner that evening. Steve perked up at the mention of the cinema, and that's all it took. While everyone else cleared the table, Tony had Jarvis queue up some movies.

They started, of course, with Despicable Me. Tony spent the whole movie redesigning the workshop on his StarkPad (he pretended not to care, but anyone with one eye could see he wanted to be Gru someday), Bruce loved the girls, Thor couldn't stop wiggling with joy, and Steve took comfort in the fact that some things didn't change. There was still popcorn, and still a picture on the screen, and still Rasinettes to snack on when the action got too tense. Clint provided a running commentary, comparing Vector to a wide variety of real-life inefficient wannabe supervillians. Natasha spent the whole movie peening him in the back of the head with popcorn.

From that day forward, Thursday night was Movie Night in Avengers Tower. Thor declared that a day named for him should only have the best things in life, and movies were definitely up there on that list. Tony curated a list of the classics that Thor and Steve needed to see to understand half of his pop culture references. Clint took great joy in messing with the queue order, because, well, it's Clint. Steve was just happy that they watched Monty Python early on so that he understood what folks meant when they said, "I'm not dead yet!" Memos started circulating around SHIELD every Wednesday in neon bright paper, reminding folks to get their requests in before the show started. The first time that Movie Night got delayed (due to a paperwork snafu that caused Black Widow to be a few hours late), Thor made sure that no one would let it happen again. A surly God of Thunder is not a pleasant sight to behold.

When Coulson first awoke from his coma, it was a Thursday. Only the best things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't super pleased with how this one came out originally, so I've tweaked it a bit. Let me know if it needs something else somewhere-- I don't have a beta reader, so these mostly just fall out of my head and onto the internet.


	6. The Laundry

Steve carries many burdens from his pre-Capsicle years. Between the abject poverty he grew up with and the rationing of the War, the concepts of frugality and conservation are as much a part of him as his name. His mother taught him to darn socks as soon as his fine motor skills developed enough to manipulate the yarn. Sometimes Steve thinks back on the evenings spent with her, mending in her lap and stories on her lips.

Those memories are sometimes the only things that keep him grounded after he witnesses yet another stunning display of the wastefulness of this century. Of all the adjustments he had to make, the disposable society was the most difficult. Rationing was one of his big stump points on the USO tour, after all. Waste Not, Want Not, Victory gardens, austerity for the boys overseas, all this and more to win the war and beat back Hitler.

Conspicuous consumption, Steve decided, must have a picture of Tony Stark's obnoxious smirk next to it in the dictionary. No one is more wasteful than Tony. He goes through money like water, and water like alcohol, and alcohol like parts in his workshop. Steve boggled at the sheer volume of parts that Tony thoughtlessly destroyed every week. After one particularly destructive experiment-gone-wrong, Steve and Tony got into a screaming argument in the kitchen. Steve wanted Tony to at least *try* to recycle-- Dummy could certainly handle that, or You, or Butterfingers. Tony shouted that he doesn't recycle his used clothes, so why make the effort for parts? Dirty is dirty, broken is broken, and Tony certainly has enough money.

This paused the argument while Steve processed three facts: Tony does have a lot of money, Tony does have an astonishing amount of clothing which never seems to repeat (except the ratty old band shirts that are strictly shop wear by edict from Pepper) and Steve has never actually done laundry at the Tower. The Laundromat is what he was used to, so that is what he did. Quietly, Steve asked Jarvis if there is even a washer and dryer on site. With a tone that sounded suspiciously like shame, the AI replied that there was not currently, nor had there ever been, a washer or dryer at the Tower.

Two days later, Tony awoke to one Captain Steve Rogers sitting on the workshop couch, sock in one hand and darning needle in the other, with a brand new washer and dryer cheerfully cycling through their paces. Cheerfully was the only adequate descriptor-- somehow, the machines were humming Whistle While You Work. The fabricator bots were doing a passable job at folding, while Dummy, You, and Butterfingers handled the hanging up and putting away duties of Tony's entire Wore Once Burn Now pile. A shockingly speechless Stark stumbled over to Steve, and plopped himself wordlessly on the couch. A few minutes passed before Tony stated that he was sorry, and how the hell did you talk Jarvis into giving the new appliances AI and hey Dummy, be careful with that shirt, it looks good on me.

From that day forward, Monday afternoons were Laundry day in Avengers Tower. Tony secretly enjoyed wearing darned socks while in his armor as a talisman against any other unexpected holes. He had enough of thoses already, thanks. Steve was just happy that Tony wasn't blowing the equivilent of the government budget of Canada on clothes every week,


	7. The War

Every summer, towards the end of July, Clint Barton requests two weeks off. This is notable for three reasons.

Item the first: Clint Barton rarely takes time off if it's not enforced by Medical. He gets twitchy when he doesn't have a mission at hand, so for him to willingly remove himself from the pool of available agents is worrying, at best.

Item the second: Clint Barton, a man whose reputation for being stunningly incapable of maintaining radio silence is only rivaled by his reputation for perfect marksmanship, doesn't talk about where he is going, who he is going with, or why.

Item the third: Clint Barton correctly fills out and files the paperwork, every year, weeks ahead of the deadline. This is remarkable because Clint Barton never fills out paperwork willingly, and usually not without Coulson riding herd. He carefully types in his information, ticks the box next to "Contact Availability: no network access," then scribbles a note in the margins indicating that if it is big enough to call him in, he will hear about it.

It's 6:43am on the first day of his leave as he makes his way down to the S.H.I.E.L.D. general motor pool. He starts loading several bulky items into a beat-up Chevy pick-up when his keen ears pick up the whir of the elevator. He turns as the doors slide open, revealing the rest of the team crowded into the tiny space, all laden with bags of various varieties. Phil soundlessly mouths "I'm sorry" and "I tried to stop him" as he glares at Stark.

Tony grins as he says, "you didn't think you were going to Pennsic without us, did you?"

//

Forty five minutes of arguing later, the unassuming old truck has been replaced by a stretch Hummer, courtesy of Stark Industries. The trailer behind it is packed with tents, beds, camp gear, and garb for the whole team. As Happy pulls out of the garage, a disgruntled Hawkeye shoots daggers at Stark, who is growing more pleased with himself by the second. The rest of team is exchanging excited speculations about this massive historical reenactment event, each idea more spectacular than the last. Jarvis is playing a queue of war point battle clips on the tv, and Thor watches intently as warriors in familiar armor meet in a resounding crash. Phil has a lap full of paperwork, pen scratching as he silently monitors the occupants of the vehicle.

An hour passes before Natasha crawls over to Clint, who has been strangely quiet in the far corner of the vehicle, arms crossed and eyes angry. Nudging him with her shoulder, she tucks herself into his side, then asks why he's acting so surly.

"It's not that I don't want you along, Tash," the archer replies. "I just... Pennsic War is special. The Circus was in Butler during War Week one time when I got hurt and had to go to the ER for stitches. There were a few people at the hospital who were dressed up in these crazy costumes, like King Arthur or whatever. I asked if they were in a play, and they all laughed. Barney got real cranky when he thought they were making fun of me, but they just explained that they were part of this big international historical recreation group called the Society for Creative Anachronism, or SCA for short. They were having this big event over in Slippery Rock, a couple towns over. Once I got fixed up, Barney and I snuck on site to check out what these weirdos were doing in their funny clothes. I mean, when the carnies think you're odd..." Clint let out a wry laugh, and Natasha twisted to get a better look at his face, worried.

"I had never really felt at home anywhere, y'know? The circus was the closest, I guess, but even there, I always had to be on guard, watching my back. These people at Pennsic, the whole thing just clicked. Yeah, the clothes were a little strange, but they are way more comfortable than this Lycra and Kevlar crap we wear on missions. And..." Clint paused, hesitant. Then...

"Do you realize how much crap I get for shooting a fucking bow and arrow, Tash? My first year at S.H.I.E.L.D., R&D practically refused to do repairs on my bows, insisting that I use a regulation weapon, 'something from this century, Barton, we don't service cannons either.' Thank fuck for Phil, who practically blackmailed the department head into getting a waiver for my instrument of choice. Even in the circus, my shooting was a novelty. No one really understands the sweet singing of a taut bowstring, or how the hard lines of a piece of wood can be soft as silk, and more comforting than a teddy bear, not unless you truly are an archer.

"At Pennsic? No one batted an eyelash at the guy cradling his recurve like a baby as he walked through the marketplace. More to the point, the folks who did notice weren't critical of my choice. They were in awe. They wanted to know the name of my bowyer, the type of wood, what brand of strings, who fletched my arrows, my preferred arm guard. They appreciated my skills, sure, but it went deeper than that. They appreciated _me_ in all my outdated-weapon-loving, bad-pun-making, Doctor-Who-and-Star-Wars-quoting, prank-pulling glory. More to the point, they encouraged me to develop my skills. I'd always been pretty ok with throwing knives and axes, but spears are a whole 'nother ball game. And how do you think I got so good at building miniature trebuchets to fling stuff at Fury during debriefings? I learned on a full-size siege weapon designed to take down a castle wall. I know there are rumors that there's nothing thicker than Fury's skull, but I am here to tell you that's a lie.

"Mama Grainné is in charge of my camp, the old coot. She took me under her wing that first year. She caught me on the archery range after dark, and she dressed me down pretty good before she dragged me back to camp to stick some food in me. She is one hell of a fine lady, Tash. The rest of the household is amazing too. I only see them for 14 days out of 365, but after you, Phil, and the team, they're the closest thing I have to a family. I can't lose this, Tash. These people, they're important. And you are all important too, but I don't know what I will do if I have to choose. I know Grainné and everyone else has seen the footage, seen us all on tv after New York, and during New York. She didn't say anything when I was confirming the meal plan and camp fees, but... Oh god, Tash, what if she doesn't want anything to do with me? What if she hates what I did for Loki? What will I do?"

A soft hand reaches up to smooth the furrows on the archer's brow, and Clint realizes that the only sounds in the vehicle are the noises of the road, and his own choked-back sobs. He glances at the rest of the team: Tony and Bruce with a StarkPad shared between them, equations on the screen long forgotten; Steve and Thor with a spilled chess game at their feet, pieces clinking in the thick carpet; and Phil, already starting to move across the limo to be on his other side, paperwork messily stacked on the seat. The Tasha-Clint-Coulson Comfort Sandwich (patent pending) is quickly completed, and Clint has just started breathing regularly again, when Tony opens his mouth.

"Clint, I-"

"Shut it, Stark, or I will shut it for you," Phil snaps, eyes blazing. "Don't you think you've caused enough damage for one fucking day? Go call your pilot, then get us to the nearest airport. We're all going back to the Tower, and Clint's going to War by himself like he wanted to in the--"

"No one should ever have to go to war alone," Steve says quietly, stopping Phil mid-tirade.

The soldier squares his shoulders and looks Clint straight in the eye, then says, "if you want us to let you go it alone, we will respect your wishes. But we are a team, and yes, we are a family, and war is where you need your family the most. When Tony told us where you were off to, I thought it sounded like a swell idea. My entire life now is in the wrong century, and it's been a heck of an adventure. I want to see how it is going the other direction, backwards instead of forwards. I can't ever really go back, where-- when I was, but I thought, maybe..."

Steve's eyes drift towards the floor, 3 feet and 70 years away, "maybe it will be more fun, if it's my choice this time."

"And this _is_ our choice, Clint," Bruce chimes in, large palm running trails through his curly hair. "We want to come with you and experience things for ourselves. I've always heard that the SCA is welcoming of all people, even shy scientists who like mixing ridiculously string drinks. Maybe even especially those scientists."

Bruce's grin is lopsided and sheepish as he ducks his head, peeking up at Tony through his unruly hair, then looking back at Clint. "And yeah, maybe we got a little carried away, but it's kind of hard to reign it in when Tony's enthusiasm is so contagious." He pauses. "Contagious like smallpox, and twice as dangerous," Bruce concludes as he elbows Tony in the ribs, muttering something about having a sociopath for a lab partner.

Phil's eyes are locked on Tony when he gives the billionaire a sharp nod. "Speak."

Untangling himself from Bruce, Tony leans forward, elbows on his knees, face earnest.

"Listen, Legolas, I'm not going to make fun of you for this SCA thing. I mean, I run around in public in a suit of armor all the time. Silica domiciles, mineral projectiles, you know the drill. I know you've been stressed lately, and Jarvis found a picture of you doing, what's it called, Combat Archery or something?" Tony waves his hands around. "Anyway, I made myself a new suit with nothing but the HUD and J in my ear -- no weapons or repulsors or anything fancy-- and it's SCA-standards compatible, so I thought maybe you could shoot at me?"

Tony shrugs and quirks his eyebrows at Clint, then throws his hands up as he leans back, grinning. "I know I give you plenty of reasons to want to blast me full of holes at least twice a week -- and I swear, that one arrow shouldn't have dyed your hair pink, that really was an accident -- but it might be an extra challenge if you have to find me in a swarm of a few thousand other dudes in armor. Does that sound like fun or what? You can shoot me on purpose, no lies about friendly fire required."

The archer smiles tentatively, the grin slowly broadening as he quips, "yeah, but exploding arrows aren't combat approved."

"We can work on that!" cheers Tony, earning himself another cranky look from the Agent, though the venom in the look is much reduced. 

Clint turns to Thor, who has a strange look flitting across his face. "Soooo... What about you, big guy? Want to see how we tiny humans make bigger fools of ourselves than normal? I bet you'd feel right at home in some of the Viking camps."

"Hawkeye, wielder of the yew's wrath, it is indeed true that I could feel at home with some of your societal friends. This reason stands above all others for why I chose to accompany you and our shield brethren to this War. The Bifrost is still unstable and in need of repairs. While I revel in the company of the fine Avenging Warriors, I find that I yearn for the halls of Asgard more often than I ought. This sickness for the world of my birth weakens me, and I fear it is eating me alive, like the worm at the base of Yggdrasil." Thor's head hangs, a weariness settling over him.

Clint realizes that his jovial buddy is homesick just as Happy rolls down the divider, announcing their arrival at Cooper's Lake. As he tumbles out of the car onto sacred ground, a plan begins to form, and he grins.

//

Mama Grainné is standing at the gate of the encampment, hip cocked to the left with a massive wooden spoon gripped in one hand. Her imposing figure is backlit by a bright fire, a warm contrast to the chilly night air. Seeing Clint,  she nods, and one of the camp urchins scrambles out from behind her skirts to bolt past the fire and into the big tent, which suddenly goes silent. Clint walks forward, eyes closing as he steels himself for the rejection.

Instead, he receives a crushing hug, his head pressed against a surprisingly firm bosom. Through the arms that are around his head, he can catches every third or fourth phrase of the litany spewing from the mouth above him: _proud_ ; _worried_ ; _scared_ to death; you _ever_ do that again; _so help me_ ; causing _trouble_ ; _hero_ ; no _son_ of mine.

At the last, her wrenches himself out of the older woman's tight grip so he can better stare at her. "S-son?" he manages to choke out.

"For all intents and purposes, child. You know that." She frowns, gently taking his face in her hands, bringing it closer to hers. "You did know that, right? I did manage to get that much through your thick skull at some point in the last umpteen years. Tell me you know that."

Clint dives back towards her, his arms wrapping tightly around her torso, like he's trying to merge his body to hers. "I do now," he mumbles into her skin while she hulls him in tighter. "I do now."

They hold each other close for a few more moments, a motherly hand stroking the spiky hair smooth. Finally, Clint takes a deep breath, and steps back. He clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. "Mama Grainné, I have some friends I'd like you to meet."

//

The team is shocked to learn that their baseline measurement of Happy Thor has been off by an order of magnitude. The god has spent the last several days reveling in the atmosphere of Pennsic, and he has never been happier to be on Midgard.

Word spreads quickly through the camps that Thor is there. Every person on site puts on their best Norse garb and ventures out, hopeful to catch a glimpse of this legend. Every Thor's Hammer amulet in the market place is sold out within hours, and a healthy black market has sprung up on eBay for charms touched by the god himself.

During Peace Week, Thor spends a great deal of time during the day drinking mead in one of the university tents, circled 'round by Laurels in Norse research. They are thrilled to have a primary source to work from, and Thor is pleased that he gets to tell stories of daring deeds and fierce battles for hours on end. He laughs at some of their ridiculous theories, and confirms some which are even more outlandish. Everyone's pretty chipper. 

The evenings are when the Valkyries come out. After getting things settled with Mama Grainné, Clint sent out some feelers to a few friends to assemble a team of the fiercest, most awesome potential Valkyries ever to walk on Midgard. They follow the grinning god around, ensuring that his horn stays full, and his grin wide. He assures all involved that his father will be "most pleased indeed" to know of their faithful attendance to his son, and that "mother will be quite jealous, and may attempt to secret away a few of you for her own purposes."

The battles, though, are when Thor's light shines the brightest.  A few strings get pulled to get everyone properly authorized and outfitted for battle. One stern lecture from the marshal in charge later, ("these are all normal humans, so anything that would possibly be considered excessive will get you bounced from the field, folks, heroes or not") and the Avengers take the field of war.

In honor of their attendance and participation, the teams are split in three: the Middle, the East, and the Avengers. Tony, Steve, and Thor are in the thick of it, while Bruce and Natasha man a massive siege weapon of Bruce's design. Clint is providing aerial support via combat archery, and Coulson is by his side, providing a second set of eyes and ears to watch out for their team. The Avengers fight valiantly, protecting one another through yet another battle. And if Iron Man happened to get wounded by arrows more than any other combatant on any team combined, and if Iron Man spent more time trudging to and from the res point than actually fighting, and if Iron Man was heard grumbling about some "fuckin' Elf bastard"... Well, maybe Clint just shrugged and suggested that maybe his aim was a little off that week.

//

fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This all started with [this exchange on Tumblr](http://shieldhumanresourcesdept.tumblr.com/post/51457129068/zarhooie-shieldhumanresourcesdept), and just kind of fell into my head fully formed. I started writing this at 4:30 in the morning. It is now just shy of 9. It just sort of... happened. I am not sorry.
> 
> If there are typos, please let me know. Typos are a hazard of writing long things on the iPad.
> 
> For more information about the awesomeness that is the SCA, head to SCA.org.
> 
> Also, FYI? There is totally a group of ladies (and at least one guy) who dress up like Valkyries at Pennsic. They sing songs about killing and maiming, and carry their mead horns with pride! I can't imagine a world where Clint wouldn't be friends with these ladies. :)
> 
> ETA: someone mentioned that there may have been a kinkmeme prompt about this a while back. I can't find it, but if it exists and you know where it is, point me at it? Thanks!


	8. The Stories

After Steve's plane went down, Howard saw a major hole beginning to form in the ranks of the military. As much as Steve'd been useful in the war, he was truly missed after it, when a Super Soldier behind enemy lines would have come in awfully handy.

While every government with a science program and almost every power-mad Schmidt wanna-be tried to recreate the Super Solider Serum, Howard went anther direction. He built himself an exoskeleton-like suit which amplified his body's own power. He wasn't Steve (no one would ever be Steve), but it was certainly better than anything the rest of the world had come up with.

Over the next few decades, Howard lent his skills and his suit to various three-letter agencies. His services didn't come free, though-- he used the Iron suit (well, titanium, but who's counting?) as leverage to acquire lucrative contracts and profit margins for Stark Industries. In turn, the agencies sent him on some petty horrific missions, ones at no one else could possibly survive.

Howard made it through alive, but there were costs that he didn't calculate into the equation.

His schedule, already fairly erratic as the CEO of one of the largest companies in the world, caused him to miss most of the milestones in Tony's young life. He was on radio silence when his son was born, deep in the jungles of South America when he took his first steps, and somewhere just north of the Arctic Circle when Tony cheerfully pronnced his first multi-syllable word ("twansistor!"). Even when he was physically there, his mind was somewhere else. The drinking certainly didn't help matters-- in the days before therapists and medication, PTSD was known as shell shock, and the best cure was a stiff drink.

The best connection he had with his son was on nights when he was doing ok, and hadn't been drinking all that much. He would nudge Tony towards bed, telling his young son the tales of the mechanical marvel known as Iron Man. Half the time he spun tales from the truths of the missions he'd been sent on, the ones so secret that he didn't have the clearance to recall his own memories. The other half of the time, he and Tony would get bogged down in the technological details of the tech. Tony was pretty sure that such a thing was impossible, but Howard just smiled quietly to himself.

\--------

Tony's first semi-usable weapon (age 7) was built for use by Iron Man. The excited child ran up to his father and tried to explain how this could help Iron Man win the day. Howard, furious with another matter altogether, snapped at Tony that nursery stories are for children, who should be seen, not heard, and certainly not in this workshop, get the hell out or I am going to call your mother.

Days later, Howard found Tony's device tucked away in the corner of the workbench. Though the soldering was sloppy, the gears misaligned, and the overall execution lacking, Howard could see the potential in the small weapon  
He regretted snapping at his son, but, well, Starks had never been known for their apology skills. He did, however, make it a point to stop by Tony's room at bedtime that evening to tell him another mostly-true story about the metal suit with a man inside.

\--------

Tony was pretty sure he was going to die in this cave. He was going to die, be covered in dust, and his body would rot away, only wires and shrapnel remaining as a makeshift headstone, spelling out "here lies Tony, who was pretty dumb for a smart guy" in the sand. He was exhausted, hungry, thirsty, and above all, scared.

As he waited for the end to come, Tony recalled the bedtime stories his father used to tell him when he was young. Tony idly wished that Iron Man was real so that he could get the hell out of this prison/tomb. Sighing, he pushed the thoughts out of his mind as he turned his head to view his meager surroundings once again. His eye settled on a pile of scrap metal which had been dumped haphazardly in the corner.

Sitting up, he could feel the idea beginning to take form...


	9. The Halloween Misadventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy and Kate sneak into the super secret undercover wardrobe room on 31 October.

Darcy and Kate Bishop team up to get their humans/superhumans ready for Halloween.

They sneak into the ruins of the Triskelion to find the super secret undercover wardrobe room, and grab outfits for everyone. They dress Thor as a puppy (“Fursuits? Seriously?” “I am NOT asking Clint.”), Clint as a hobo (“I thought this was supposed to be the day where you DIDN’T dress like yourself?” “It’s totally different if he doesn’t have a coffee pot in his hand.”), Tony as a cancan girl (“What? He’s got great legs!”), and Bruce as a sailor (“And if he hulks out, I bet the hat will stay on! SO CUTE.” “OMG Darcy, you’re going to get us all killed.”). They try to convince Steve and Bucky to dress up as each other, but they refuse because they both want to dress up as Tony. The girls can't object too much to that because supersoldiers in perfectly-tailored suits? Yes please. The Tony-lookalikes spend the rest of the day terrorizing the rest of the Tower residents with random robots and minor explosions.

They also try to get Natasha dressed up, but she just smiles slyly, and says, “I’m already wearing a costume. I look just like someone who won’t poison you in your sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea.


End file.
